Break-in at Santini Air
by Nighshae
Summary: In the aftermath of saving DC from a nuclear attack, Archangel's late night meeting plans lead to finding other problems. (Post 'Where have all the Children gone')


Leaning back in the limo's seat, Michael Archangel let out a deep sigh as he closed the file he'd been reading and put it into his briefcase, then closed the top and automatically spun the lock as the vehicle left the main roadway and headed onto the Van Nuys airports grounds. It had been a long three days; three days since Hawke had shot down a pair of nuclear missiles on track to Washington DC after pushing Airwolf to Mache two, something that even his experts had told him couldn't be done. The trans-continental flight had been tracked all across the states by various military radars since Dominic had been too busy keeping the Lady in one piece to worry about radar jamming, and he'd spent the last two days driving home the fact that mere chance had put Hawke, _again_, at the right place at the right time to intercede.

A lot of people in DC hadn't been happy to learn that only chance had kept the east coast from being turned into a nuclear dead zone and destroying the US government at the source.

Still, he'd been able to use it to their advantage. It had taken two days for them to get the Lady home, and he was fairly sure she _wasn't_ at her usual lair, but he wasn't sure where they'd finally set down. The repair list that had been the last thing he'd heard from her pilots had been extensive, and there was some concern that they'd not be able to handle all of it themselves.

Twice before Hawke had had to trust Michael and bring the aircraft in for work that he and Santini hadn't been able to do themselves, once when Airwolf had been caught on the edge of a nuclear blast and needed decontamination, then again when they'd been caught in the ash cloud of an active volcano. Both times they'd been able to do it safely because the feds hadn't been involved and known what was going on.

This time they did, and certain factions of the military had been screaming for the government to take advantage of the situation to make a try to finally seize the high-tech helicopter back from Hawke's custody. By force, if need be.

He had spent the last two days countering their arguments with his own; without Hawke and Airwolf, they'd all be dead right now. American assets hadn't been able to stop the attack, they'd only known it was going down because Hawke had called him and he'd called everyone else. If it hadn't been for Hawke, DC would never have had a clue that the attack was even coming. The Capital would have been destroyed by nuclear fire without even a whimper. With the House and Senate currently in session, the entire upper level of the government would have all died.

His argument had won him concessions. The President had ordered the military to back off and let Michael deal with Hawke his way, much to their disgust and displeasure. Fortunately, most of the Joint Chiefs had agreed with him, at least for the moment, so he was hoping that this late night meeting with Hawke would let his engineers do some fast work with the goal of getting Airwolf back in the air and safely back to her usual lair.

The limo swerved sharply away from the dark Santini Air hanger and he swayed a moment from the surprising maneuver before he caught his balance and hit the intercom. "Lydia, what's going on?" he questioned.

"Side door is open, sir," she replied as she pulled around a couple of other parked vehicles and brought the stretch limo to a halt. "That didn't look right to me."

Scowling, he slid the briefcase into the lockable drawer under the seat ahead of him, closed and locked it, then moved to exit the vehicle as she opened the door for him. It was two in the morning, heading for three, in fact, and the hanger door should have been closed. His talk with Hawke earlier in the evening from DC had set out the timetable, and he had a key to let himself in. The place should have been locked up, Hawke asleep inside in the back room. His entrance would wake the pilot, since he would turn on the hanger lights and call for him as he entered.

Someone else, it seemed, had gotten there first.

Looking at the slightly open door, Michael quickly shed his suit jacket, vest and tie, tossing them back into the limo after his hat and undoing the cuffs of his suit shirt to give him free use of his arms as he spoke to the waiting Lydia. "Call our security and the local police, tell Kinsey I'm going to need him here to secure the place and deal with that broken door. Tell the police that we have a suspected break-in and ask that they approach quietly and with care, I don't want anyone hit by accident," he ordered, checking the gun he had in a shoulder holster, then reached for his cane, grasping the middle of the weighted stick instead of the head. She was on the limo's phone as he headed in, moving quietly and quickly to get inside and assess the situation.

Experienced fingers found the damage as he slipped in, the lock itself broken instead of the door being forced, something that led him to believe that his break-in team had known that someone was there since they would have gone for kicking it in if they thought it was empty. There were no other vehicles outside, but they might have seen Hawke come in earlier if they'd been watching the place, and Michael spotted Hawke's motorbike just inside the main doors. With Hawke and Santini both out of town, Cait would have been running the place with a couple of people who worked part time for Dominic, and the place wouldn't have been as busy as it normally was.

Voices came from the back office and Michael stilled, listening as he looked around, turning to scan the entire hanger for any signs of a straggler or guard. Finding no one, he concentrated on the voices, frowning as he did. Cursing, sounds of drawers being emptied… Whatever they were looking for, they weren't finding it and he moved around the parked biplane to the further door into the area where Hawke would have bunked down to wait for him.

"Damn it all, big hotshot pilots with all these choppers and planes, don't they keep money around here?" one voice stated in frustration as he slipped into the back room. The place was dark, the only light on was in the office, and from it Michael could just see the still figure lying on the floor. And from the sound of that voice, whoever was in the other room was young, very young.

Listening closely to the guys in the other room as they continued to snarl about the poor haul, Michael moved silently to Hawke's side and knelt carefully to check his pulse, finding it quickly at the base of his neck, but the pilot was clearly out cold. It was slower than it would have been had he been conscious, and Hawke didn't move as he checked him quickly for injuries. The lump on the back of the younger man's head told him why, and Michael kept his curse to himself when he found it. Somehow the group had actually gotten the drop on the younger man and knocked him out cold.

Not wanting to move him without knowing of further injuries, Michael rose back to his feet and moved to the other side of the room, pausing in the door's shadow to listen more intently to what the group was saying in the office.

"Hey, we got the dude's bike and wallet, the petty cash box and a few things we can sell, it's not a complete bust," a second guy stated, and Michael relaxed minutely. Petty thugs, looking for sellable items and cash he could deal with in his sleep. His concern had been that someone from the government was going against orders to make a play for Airwolf.

"I found some recent credit card receipts with full numbers on them, maybe those will be worth something, but so far, this place is a bust," came a third voice. From the heavy breathing, that was all of them, and that was something Michael could deal with.

Shifting his grip on his cane, Michael moved out of the side room and across the hall to just beside the office doorway. The office was small, and he had a pretty good idea where they each were, but he paused, listening intently to how they were moving around and planning his moves.

'If you're going to carry that stick, Michael, you need to learn how to use it as the weapon it can be,' Hawke had told him, and he smirked as he remembered working out against the pilot to learn to do just that. Unless the weather was really cold and made his knee ache, or the footing was rough, he hardly used the cane as a prop any more, and hadn't since a few months after Hawke had gained control of Airwolf. Mostly he'd adopted it as an affectation, something to distract people from anything else he might be doing, though it was good to have just in case he did need it. And, as Hawke had suggested, he had on a few occasions used it as a weapon.

Swinging it across the hall, Michael pushed on the door into the other room, trying to make it sound like Hawke had regained consciousness and was trying to get out.

"Shit, he woke up. Let's get out of here," one of the voices blurted, the speaker clearly rattled as Michael jerked the cane back, then got ready for them as they bolted out the door. He was pretty sure these were young punks out for a fast buck, and he really didn't want to deal with the paper work from having to shoot someone.

The first one came out the door at a run, Santini Air's petty cash box in hand, and Michael took him down fast with a move he had worked out with Hawke. Letting the heavy head of the cane pull it through his fingers, he swung it down and out, catching the young man's ankle and then gave a sharp pull so that it pulled the thugs foot out from under him. The teen went flying across the hall and into the heavy tool chest there with no control at all and Michael actually winced in sympathy as the kid howled in pain from the impact.

That didn't, however, keep him from catching the second thug across the gut with the stick, and he caught the third with a right cross as the other two bolted through the door after their buddy.

Shaking out his hand, Michael reached to turn on the hanger lights as he glanced inside the office to be sure he'd gotten everyone, then stepped up to the first of the thugs and pulled a set of cuffs from his pocket and cuffed the most conscious of the trio as he caught the first sounds of approaching helicopters. By the time his guards came in, their leader calling his name, he had retrieved the spare handcuffs that Caitlin kept in the main desk drawer and had the three young men secured. "Kinsey," he called, nodding in greeting as they worked around the biplane and equipment to him. "Check the rest of the hanger; Hawke's down in the back room and the office is clear."

The guard motioned towards the steps to the loft and three men headed up there as he lowered his weapon. "Good work, Sir," he complimented, looking the trio over. One was conscious, the other two starting to rouse. "These punks took Hawke down?" he asked, frowning. "He's slipping."

"He's probably exhausted," Michael corrected, ducking back into the other room and turning on the light to check the still unconscious pilot as the team's medic ducked around Kinsey to join him. "I want to get him to Galen's Keep as quickly as possible."

"Medevac is five minutes out," the older man assured him, fingers running over Hawke's back and shoulders, then tutting to himself when he found the goose egg on the back of his head. "Oh, that's nasty. Concussed most likely, and he's going to need an MRI to be sure that he's not cracked the skull. I don't know what they caught him with, but it had to have been heavy."

Michael nodded as calls of 'police' came from outside. "Take care of him," Michael ordered, rising and going back out as Kinsey's people were pulling the thugs to their feet and a few local cops came in. Whatever they were expecting, it sure wasn't Michael's commando's with three handcuffed teenagers, one of whom was actually muttering about charges against the 'asshole with the stick'.

Gun slung over his shoulder, Kinsey caught that particular mouth by the collar, jerking him fully upright to look down at him with a cold glare. "You're lucky he used the stick, punk," he stated coolly. "If he'd thought you were a real threat, he would have used a gun."

"Stand down, Captain," Michael told him calmly, rolling down his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs as yet another helicopter joined the group landing outside. Hopefully that was the medevac and he could get Hawke out of there quickly. "Officer…?"

"Sergeant Bentz," the leader stated, looking at him calmly. "ID please?"

Michael flipped it out and handed it over, watching the man's eyebrows go up as he realized who he was talking to. "I'm going to let you deal with these three petty thieves," he stated, taking it back and putting it away. "I was coming to meet with one of the employees here on a separate matter, Dominic Santini knew I was coming, and I arrived to find the side door open, these three tossing the office, and my contact unconscious in the back room."

The cop nodded, motioning his men forward and they quickly took charge of the trio as a medical team came in. Kinsey motioned them to the other door and they soon came out with the unconscious Hawke on a gurney, the medics making notes on his vitals as they passed.

Kinsey, however, stopped them and stepped up besides the prone pilot with a frown. "Sir," he stated, motioning Michael over. "Is he missing something?"

Michael took a quick look, then turned, scowling, to the trio as Kinsey let the medics start moving Hawke out of there. "All right, which of you three punks took it?" he growled, glaring at them.

One of the three, the one who'd taken his stick in the gut, glared right back at him. "Took what, man? Who the hell do you think you are, going after us, the gang's gonna make you pay we get out of the clink, nobody messes with us…."

Michael's scowl grew. "I don't think you're going to be going anywhere for some time to come," he replied. "Hawke wears an MIA bracelet. Which of you three has it?"

One of the men shifted uneasily, and a mix of cops and guards grabbed him, the two guards pinning him over the work counter as the cop patted the yelling thug down. It only took a moment to find the gold and steel bracelet, and he handed it over to Michael. "I think we got enough evidence we don't need to take that in as well," the Sergeant stated. "So, breaking and entry, attempted robbery and assault; we'll be able to keep them for a while, at least."

The big mouth of the trio shook his head. "He's the one who assaulted us, why aren't you arresting him, copper?" he demanded. "He a cop? You pigs always look the other way when it's one of yours doing the swinging…"

Bentz smirked. "More like a secret agent man," he stated. "Get them out of here."

Michael watched them haul the trio out. "I'll get in touch with you tomorrow and give you a statement if you wouldn't mind Sargent," he told the officer. "I want to stay with Hawke, they're taking him to the hospital now. Kinsey will help you sort out what evidence you need here and secure the site until we can let Dominic know what happened. Kinsey, have your men fix that door; you're not to leave until the hanger is secure and Cait or Dom has arrived to get the new key."

There was a murmur of agreement from both men and Michael thanked the officer again before heading out to where the medevac helicopter was starting up. He waved to the watching Lydia, who turned to reenter and start up the limo, then climbed up into the back next to the medic. "How is he?" he asked as the helicopter took off.

"No change, which is probably lucky for him, he's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up," the medic assured him. "Pulse and blood pressure are steady, but he's definitely got one hell of a concussion."

Michael nodded, turning to take in the pilot's pale face and slack features. "They expecting him?" he asked.

"I had just finished the call when you got in, sir," he was assured. "Dr. Morgan is waiting for him."

Michael nodded. Morgan was one of his own doctors, a trauma specialist with a cool head on his shoulders who wouldn't back down if it came down to keeping Hawke in the hospital for a few days.

The flight didn't take long, and a full medical team was waiting to take Hawke in as soon as they landed. Morgan nodded to him as he got out, looking him over with a critical eye before turning his attention to his real patient. "It's getting mighty late even for you, Michael," he pointed out, taking the notes that the medic offered him and checking his patient quickly as they headed inside. "Take him straight down to get an MRI, they're waiting for him," he told his team.

"Yes, well, the night got a little busier than planned" Michael murmured. "I'll be in the office; let me know when they take him to a room, please."

"Right," the doctor agreed, following his patient as Michael headed off to the clinic's administrative area. He let the night staff know he was there, then unlocked a discrete door and went into the small office, turning on the lights and heading for the desk he kept there.

The office was small, only a desk and chair with two other chairs and a locking filing cabinet in the corner, but it took care of his needs at the odd times when he had someone checked in and he needed to stay close. And it had a secure phone, which is what he really needed at the moment.

Unlocking a lower drawer, he drew out a scrambler and put it over the mouthpiece of his phone, then dialed in a number he knew by heart. He heard the familiar double click as the line switched to satellite, then the phone began to ring.

It was a good ten rings before it was answered, the irate 'what?' heavy with Dominic Santini's familiar accent. "I was hoping I would find you there," Michael replied. "Good morning, Dominic."

There was a long moment of silence as Santini gathered his thoughts, and he could almost picture the old Italian's confused expression. "Why you calling up here? Thought you were meeting up with String at the hanger? What happened?"

"I'm currently at Galen's Keep, and Hawke is down getting an MRI to be sure that whatever the three punks hit him with didn't crack his skull. It's a good thing we had that meeting planned, or no one would have found him until morning."

"How bad is it? How did they get into the hanger?" came the worried reply.

"Broken lock, and the doctor figures a concussion at least, he hasn't woken up yet. I've got my security keeping the hanger safe and they'll have a new key waiting for Caitlin when she gets in in the morning. The culprits are in the hands of the local police. I'm gathering from your presence up at Hawke's cabin that the Lady is somewhere up there?"

"What if she is?" Santini asked, his tone suspicious.

"Relax, Dominic, I've got the hounds off the trail at this point and properly leashed. The President and the Joint Chiefs all agreed that after this most recent save you guys deserve a break. No one is hunting for the Lady right now, and my people are pulling together what we need to get her back in the sky."

There was a more thoughtful silence. "You being you, and paranoid as all get out, I'm going to assume this line is secure and admit that's a good thing, because the Lady barely made it up here. We have system failures all over the place. She's covered along the edge of the woods back behind the cabin."

"Good to know, so I can keep an eye on things and make sure no one does something stupid," Michael admitted. "I can send up a couple of my people to keep an eye on things while you come down here if you'd like."

"No way to get down. String was supposed to fly up to get me in the morning, he took the bike down to the hanger to meet you."

"Caitlin's at home?" Michael mused. "I can call her from here for you."

"No, I'll do it, just make sure your security folks know she's coming to get a chopper to come get me," Santini told him, and hung up.

Michael made a second call to let Kinsey know, then put away the scrambler and pulled out a note pad. By the time he was notified that Hawke was in his room and the doctor was waiting for him, Michael had written up the report to go to the police, and was ready to start moving again.

The doctor was settling an oxygen cannula on Hawke when he slipped in, Morgan giving him a reassuring smile when he saw Michael's frown of concern. "He'll be all right," he assured him, nodding as Michael turned the lights down to a dimmer level. "No signs of a skull fracture or any swelling to the brain, so he should be out of here in a couple of days. This is just a safety precaution and he'll be monitored pretty closely until he wakes up."

Nodding, Michael drew the bracelet they'd taken off the thugs from his pocket. "No more scans?" he asked, moving to the right side of the bed opposite the doctor.

"No, we shouldn't need to," the doctor assured him, nodding as Michael moved to lock the bracelet back into its proper place around Hawke's wrist. His eyebrows flickered up as Hawke let out a deep sigh and seemed to relax more. "Interesting," Morgan murmured.

"He's been wearing that bracelet for sixteen years, I'm not surprised at all," Michael admitted. "Hawke, can you hear me? Stringfellow?"

Hawke shifted in the bed between them, letting out a moan as he reached up to rub at his forehead. "Hmmm? Michael? Wa' happened?"

"Break-in at the hanger; one of the thugs got you from behind and knocked you out. Now, see if you can open your eyes so the doctor can figure out how much damage they did, okay?"

Hawke did as he asked, and did his best to answer the doctor's questions, but it was pretty clear he was hurting and still groggy. Still, some things were pretty ingrained into his thinking, and Michael wasn't surprised when he was asked to contact Santini at the cabin. "I already did, and he was going to call Cait to bring a chopper up to get him. He'll be here before you wake up again, I'm sure."

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding as the doctor reassured them both he'd be fine in a couple of days and headed out. "Wha' about your trip? We nee' to worry?"

"No, we'll have at least a couple of weeks before anyone will feel any urge to make a move our direction. Most who would are too busy trying to explain how they missed that whole mess to start with. By the time someone gets out of the tangle, we'll hopefully have the Lady repaired and back to her usual lair."

Hawke nodded without thinking, then winced as the movement sent his head aching. "Ow…."

"Yeah, you got walloped pretty hard," Michael told him. "I was worried when I went in there hunting for you and heard that trio off in the office, you're usually more aware of your surroundings than that. Lydia spotted the open side door and we called for back-up."

The younger man scowled at him. "You found me? Where the hell was your security team?"

"About ten minutes out and I wasn't about to wait. Fortunately, none of the three had a gun or you'd likely be in surgery right now. Course, they'd be in the morgue because I would have gone for my gun instead of using my cane and fist on them. When you're a bit more aware I'll have one of my people get a statement from you for the assault charges. I just finished writing my report for the police."

Hawke snorted, shifting a bit to try to get more comfortable in the bed, and Michael adjusted the head slightly upwards for him. "Good thing I made you learn to use that stick then," he murmured, eyes dropping closed. "And it was about time you made up for the last few times I pulled _your_ ass out of the fire."

Michael's surprised laugh almost made Hawke smile before he slipped to sleep.


End file.
